


The Invention of Salacious Selfies

by Blue_Sparkle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley has many a thing and takes pictures of them, Dick Pics, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Nude Photos, Pre-Relationship, aesthetically not very well done nudes, mature but toeing the line to explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/pseuds/Blue_Sparkle
Summary: Crowley invented the selfie. And right before doing that he invented the Dick Pic.Secure in his knowledge that Aziraphale does not in fact own a mobile phone capable of displaying such images Crowley ends up sending dozens of saucy images. It's not like the angel can receive and look at them after all, or access the backlog should he ever get a phone. Right?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 133
Kudos: 959





	The Invention of Salacious Selfies

**Author's Note:**

> For Harry, who keeps ranting about dick pics with no artistic merit, and the entire gang for giving advice on what qualifies as a "bad" dick pic. Please enjoy

It started, like most vaguely dubious ideas did, with Crowley being bored out of his mind. He was alone in his sleek modern apartment, sprawled out on a couch with a rather nice bottle of champagne hanging loosely from his fingers, sunglasses discarded somewhere in the depth of his plant room. The floor to ceiling windows offered a perfect view of London’s lit up night sky, fireworks spewing clouds of red and white all over as humanity welcomed the new millennium.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t as interesting to Crowley as most of the other holidays humans came up with. Unlike their more creative approaches to finding a reason to celebrate that one was really just a reminder to take down old calendars and replace them with something new. This year had been a little bit more exciting than usual, what with the occasional doomsday anxieties humans seemed to get at random intervals; especially when the number on their calendar had some kind of made up significance. Crowley had received a commendation for his work in fanning the flames of anxiety regarding technology, but that was just a little bit of work.

Crowley took a sip from his bottle, eyes roaming the flickering red and black shadows of his little space. There wasn’t much to do for him. His plants were terrified into perfection, not a single item was out of place on his shelves, and he’d already rearranged his bookshelves based on how often a bad pun was made inside.

Perhaps he should have asked Aziraphale to spend the night with him after all, just to drink together and enjoy the last day of a millennium. But that might have been weird as neither ever spent such events together. Aziraphale would probably be trying to enjoy a nice cup of tea while the entire district around him erupted into parties anyway. 

Crowley took out his phone, idly tapping away at it. It had a camera, facing outwards and able to capture grainy pictures to display on its screen, working surprisingly well for something that was a prototype and would still need a couple months of tweaking before it was fully functional. 

Pointing it towards the window Crowley waited a few moments and pressed the button to capture a particularly beautiful display if fireworks. The picture came out fuzzy and weird, the colours nearly disappearing. It wasn’t even close to a professional image, but Crowley figured that the frustration of taking pictures of lights at night might be something to work with in the future. 

Aziraphale had no mobile phone, had even struggled against installing a landline in his shop when those became commonplace. Still, Crowley’s phone happily opened up the contacts to display the angel’s name right on top of the list with an additional mobile number next to the bookshop’s.

“Nice view. Happy new millennium” - he wrote, and attached the picture to send off into the nothingness. His phone briefly struggled with sending such a large file and not actually having a place to deliver it to, but finally complied.

Crowley huffed and dropped it on his chest, looking out into the sky again. The humans seemed nowhere near ready to stop the cacophony outside, and his fingers brushed over the smooth material of his pyjamas. He wondered if Aziraphale was delighted or annoyed right about now. Probably depended on whether he was trying to read and relax or was in the mood to get drunk with strangers.

He didn’t pay attention to what his hand was doing until his fingertips nudged against his waistband. Crowley paused, looking down and regarding his hand for a while. He thought of the warm looking cardigan Aziraphale had worn last time he’d been relaxing in his bookshop, how utterly content he looked when he found a good record with classical music. 

His cock, there for aesthetic purposes when wearing tight pants and not made to go away yet, stirred at that. Of course, comfortable and fully dressed angels would be the thing to wake his interest.

Crowley took one last sip from his champagne and set the bottle down on the floor before pushing his trousers down and freeing his hardening cock. A lazy lick down his palm and then he took himself in hand, rubbing gently and tugging himself to hardness unhurriedly. His mind was filled with thoughts of comfort and warmth, imagining that Aziraphale would be just as slow and casual about it, if this was his hand. He’d let Crowley rest his head on his lap, petting the sleepy demon’s hair and stroking at a leisurely pace, slow but not torturously so, no urgency in his touch at all. Just enjoying that Crowley was enjoying himself too. 

Crowley licked his lips, staring at his now fully hard cock. It was bathed in a strange light, leaking precum over his hand. Would Aziraphale like how it looked? 

His free hand was lying on his chest, not involved in the proceedings yet. The phone was where he’d left it.

On a whim Crowley fumbled to unlock it, aiming the camera at his cock. The resulting picture wasn’t pretty either, grainy in the low light, a little bit blurry from how his hand was shaking. But it captured what he wanted. A very obviously in use cock, framed by his hand with his fingers teasing at it.

He stared at it, inexplicably turned on more, glanced at the real thing, thought of how he’d like Aziraphale to be the one to toy with it.

With one more click the picture was sent off into nothing, followed by a “thinking bout you”.

Crowley tossed the phone aside and set to finishing up his work. He came moments later with a low groan deep in his throat, tensing up for just a second and then sinking back into his couch, more sprawled out than before.

He lay still for a moment before fumbling on the floor bonelessly, finding his bottle for another sip and then picking up his phone once again. The messages he’d sent in a lustful haze were still where he’d left them. For a moment Crowley contemplated deleting everything out of existence, but then again there was no way Aziraphale would see them. 

A useful thing, that. Taking pictures to show off to your not currently present partner. Would really help in spreading lust and sexual frustration among humanity. Would also be hot to take pictures of yourself mid wank. A thought to keep in mind for later.

Crowley blinked up at the fireworks one last time, then summoned a blanket to curl up in and decided to spend the first day of the new millennium soundly asleep.

*

It took a little tinkering here and there but soon enough Crowley had presented his idea of the selfie, much to the lower demons’ excitement, and followed that up with a small speech about saucy photos and their merits in spreading lust and sexual frustration. The latter got more interest from the big bosses, but both earned him a good amount of brownie points. The modern age was fast paced and efficient, letting Crowley spread his mischief quickly and further than he ever had before, without even putting all that much work in. 

Things were good. He and Aziraphale occasionally met up though his angel was ever so nervous about the idea of being discovered. Crowley lounged in the bookshop, Aziraphale offered up theatre tickets and took him to lunch. Nothing closer than that was permitted, lest someone get cold feet or some overzealous bosses decided to crack down on their association, but what was allowed was nice as well. Crowley upgraded his phones every time a prettier and more sleek version appeared on the market. 

Occasionally he’d text Aziraphale when he was especially bored, off on a mission or just not in the mood to rewatch old shows and nothing new caught his eye. Comments on things he saw, snapshots of a plant that had particularly pleased him, images of ducks, locations to restaurants that had just opened and looked promising. Sometimes he even dared to write how he missed his angel and that he wished he was here. The little tick confirming that his messages had been sent never shifted into message read, but Crowley didn’t expect them to. The world would end before Aziraphale bought anything so modern as a mobile phone. 

It took Crowley an absurdly long amount of time to return to what had started the entire thing. One night, when he was especially bored and upset because Aziraphale had just gotten a new shipment of books and shooed him out, he scrolled through the endless list of unreceived messages. Texts and pictures ran by, all the messages from previous phones saved on the new one as well, until Crowley reached the very top. And there it was, a grainy laughably low quality picture of his cock standing at full attention. With his mind unclouded by horniness Crowley nearly felt bad about it. At least Aziraphale hadn’t seen. 

He stared, his currently nonexistant sex making a valiant attempt to stir. Aziraphale would never get this, but it _was_ nice to imagine that he might see. Just as a fantasy. 

And so it happened, that the very next time Crowley sprawled out on his throne to rub one out to the thought of his best friend and only creature in the whole wide world he wanted but also the only one he could never have, his phone was at the ready. 

Crowley had opened his jeans, legs spread and hooked over the armrests and angled the camera so that it was obvious what opulent throne he was sitting on. Hand curled around the width of his cock to make it look bigger and tongue poking out in concentration Crowley took several pictures. He quickly picked the nicest, his own arousal making it near impossible to be patient, and sent it off to his angel. 

“Bet you’d like this seat,” he added for good measure. 

The thought of Aziraphale squirming on his lap, gasping and clenching around him sent Crowley over the edge surprisingly fast, leaving him a panting mess barely hanging on to his chair. 

The little fantasy of Aziraphale knowing exactly what he was doing really did it for Crowley apparently. 

And so his little ritual found its start. 

Crowley didn’t partake in his own hand very often anyway, laughably little compared to the kind of image he tried to project into the world. And the phone didn’t join him every time either. But he became quite good at taking pictures with either hand while in the throws of his own passion, became good at typing out short messages and sending them off to Aziraphale’s nonexistent number. 

Sometimes he would just imagine his familiar scenarious of fucking his angel, or being taken in turn, and he’d send Aziraphale brief descriptions of it. Sometimes he’d send pictures right before he got going, with cheeky offers of joining him that would never be heard. 

A few times Crowley changed things up, made an effort to change his _effort_ aesthetically, shifting length and girth back and forth, changing the exact shape. A bottle of the findest Château Lafite he’d been saving just in case he might ever share it with Aziraphale came in handy for that. Carefully placing the bottle between his legs Crowley would take pictures of his dick with it as comparison, sending the pictures off to Aziraphale to ask his opinion. Crowley had his default that happened if he didn’t focus at all, but if his angel had certain preferences about his effort then he’d get what he wanted. 

It wasn’t always dicks Crowley took pictures of. Sometimes he shifted up his efforts when he wanted to have one but also didn’t want to compromise on his miraculously tight pants. He wondered if Aziraphale would like to mess around with a cunt, and those musings quickly led to him sprawled out on his rug, two fingers spreading his outer lips and one teasing at the hole, trying to angle his camera just right to capture the less familiar junk. 

“In case you want variety in what you eat,” he typed, after sending twenty different pictures. 

That one had taken quite a while, as Crowley kept being distracted by his own hands and the mental image of Aziraphale going to town on his cunt. 

On occasion the pictures were only barely sexual. Dressing rooms were one thing Crowley liked taking credit for, the light in them being something that drove people mad often. They were the perfect location for tasteful nudes he found, and more than once he ended up in skirts and dresses, lifting them up casually and just enough to reveal what he was packing that day. 

“Thought I’d ask you for fashion advice. Which one suits this dress more? I’m partial to the third option.”

The most frequent kind of picture Crowley took was one that happened on a near monthly basis. It was the same as the very first, a shot shaky from fumbling hands, not always quite in focus, and just showing off his cock mid wank. Nothing fancy, nothing clever, just a picture and a “thinking bout you” attached. 

Some might call that new habit of his silly, some might even declare him pathetic. But Crowley always liked to think that something Aziraphale didn’t know about would certainly not hurt him. His own dignity certainly wasn’t important enough to stop. 

*

Quite out of practice in cultivating human friendships, and not used to humans knowing what exactly he was, Aziraphale did struggle a little in keeping in touch with the ones that had helped stop Armageddon. 

Madame Tracy was quick to find and easy enough to meet, as they both lived in London. She was planning on moving to a nice bungalow with the Sergeant, and Aziraphale felt strangely attached to her. Came with the territory of sharing a body, perhaps. She had been quite a gracious host. Shadwell himself seemed to take pains in avoiding him, or only be in the room with Aziraphale when Madame Tracy was also there. He could see why recent events might have worried the man. 

The Antichrist and his friends were a little difficult, given that humans were hesitant to let children befriend adults with no good reason. Adam had suggested that Aziraphale pretend to be their tutor, once school started up again, but otherwise he might just relay messages through the witch. 

Anathema, perhaps the most familiar with the occult and ethereal, was a little awkward and stiff around Aziraphale at first. Their first meeting had gone quite poorly after all, and her initial confusion had tainted her perception of Aziraphale quite a bit. Once she figured out that Aziraphale hadn’t stolen her book on purpose, and that he was quite well versed in prophecies, she warmed up a little bit. 

Her young man, Newt, was awkward in an entirely different way. It took quite a bit for Aziraphale to understand that it wasn’t his own mistakes in dealing with humans that made him act the way he was, but the young witchfinder was awkward and timid among humans either way.

It was Newt who suggested Aziraphale get a phone. 

“I don’t believe I need one of those,” Aziraphale said kindly as he eyed the thing in Newt’s hands. It looked less sleek than the ones Crowley carried around, a little clunky and comfortably old-fashioned by comparison. “I have a landline in my bookshop.”

The young couple had travelled to London for one thing or another, settling matters with Newt’s former place of employment and helping him move to Tadfield. Aziraphale had invited them along for a nice afternoon tea, and Anathema had mentioned something about needing to call her mother later that day, which had brought them to the topic of phones. 

“They’re quite a bit more practical,” Newt insisted. “You can use them outside the house and in the city and… I guess anywhere you want. Easier to get hold of people if you need to make a call and aren’t home. More reliable.”

Aziraphale smiled mildly, remembering Crowley’s confused explanations of bringing down phone networks as he’d practiced his presentations for Hell. It really didn’t seem all that reliable given that bit of information.

Anathema stirred her (iced) tea and shrugged. 

“It’s not just phone calls these days. You can take pictures. Look at maps. Check the bus schedules. See what time a play happens. Google information to win an argument.”

At this Aziraphale perked up. He knew that Crowley typed away on his phone a lot when he was just relaxing, and that there was a lot one could access from the tiny devices these days. But he had never considered getting one before. It had seemed redundant. Perhaps he really needed to get with the times, as Crowley sometimes suggested. To think, one of the few modern inventions that Crowley hadn’t tried talking him into! He would be terribly impressed if Aziraphale ended up upgrading something all by himself!

“Perhaps you are right,” Aziraphale said, ignoring the open surprise on both the humans’ faces. “Why shouldn’t I have one of these things? Would you mind telling me what kind one should get?”

And so it happened, that with the help of a witch and a witchfinder, the Principality Aziraphale returned home with his very first mobile phone. 

It was a nice thing, not as whisper thin as Crowley’s, and more solid looking. It was a pale beige and had real buttons, something Anathema said wasn’t all that modern right now. But it was fast and one could write messages just like telegraphs, and the camera was very good according to Newt. Aziraphale had never taken to photography as a proper hobby, though he had watched others enough to be curious about it. He’d never owned a proper camera, and now it was attached to his phone! 

Smiling Aziraphale turned on the device to try and set it up just as Newt had explained. He hadn’t understood a single word, but he was confident he could manage. He’d figured out computers all by himself as well after all. Once that was done he would call Crowley on his new phone to let him know that he had it. 

Aziraphale was about to do so when the phone buzzed loudly, and a notification popped up on the screen. 

“New Messages: Crowley 99+”

Aziraphale frowned at the display. How could that be? Crowley didn’t even know about the phone yet, how could he be sending messages already? He hadn’t added him as a contact the way Newt showed either. 

Tapping on the app Aziraphale opened the messages, and nearly threw the phone through the wall with a startled yelp. The very first thing he saw was somebody’s very erect, and very much _in use_ member. Not something he’d been expecting to ever see so utterly without warning. Upon closer inspection Aziraphale noticed that it was at least a nice looking one, though why it was on his phone was a mystery to him. And then he very nearly chucked the phone again when his eyes took in what was _around_ that erection. 

He had stared at Crowley enough to recognize what he was seeing, even on such a blurry picture. To know the curve of his waist, the shape of his hand. Even the shirt was one Crowley had worn yesterday. 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale muttered, covering his mouth with his hand. 

Was he allowed to look at this? Surely Crowley hadn’t meant for the angel to see this. But why did the picture exist? Had he sent it to the wrong number by mistake?

Aziraphale glanced up to see that the picture had a message attached. 

“Want a taste of this, angel?”

_Oh_. 

With shaky hands Aziraphale put the phone down on the desk and tried to understand what had happened. He knew for a fact that Crowley wasn’t aware of him owning a phone. That there was no reason for Crowley to be messaging him if he meant for Aziraphale to receive said message. 

And then one so daring!

Aziraphale had received many a poem and erotic letter in the past, he’d mingled with a certain kind of human enough to get attention and be desired. It had always been words though! Fanciful descriptions and clever wordplay to hide the true meaning. Never an actual photography! Oh he had seen them. He had watched some videos as well, though his last attempt had left him more confused and distrubed, unable to focus on the proceedings with how bad the overall quality had been. 

But a combination of those? An actual salacious picture directed at him? From Crowley no less? 

Aziraphale tapped at his phone until he could scroll up. There were more pictures, more texts. Not everything was erotic in nature. There were random notes on things Crowley had seen, jokes he wanted to share, restaurants he wanted Aziraphale to see. Occasionally there would be a picture of a park or plant. Moments Crowley had been alone but had thought of Aziraphale anyway.

Most of it was just as the first.

With shaky hands and a racing heart Aziraphale tried to take it all in. There were dozens, hundreds even. It was always Crowley’s efforts, usually with a focus on them but occasionally showing the demon in his full glory. Most were accompanied by messages, detailed fantasies of what Crowley would do if Aziraphale was there, or suggestions that he come over and do as he wished with the demon. By far the most exciting were the ones that indicated that Crowley just liked to think of Aziraphale as he brought himself pleasure. How flattering, how interesting. 

Aziraphale knew that the demon was attracted to him, that he had tried more than once to deepen their friendship into territories they couldn’t enter before the failed Armageddon. He had never expected to see proof of this. 

Soon he realized that Crowley had sent the messages through the years, ranging back at least eighteen and picking up in frequency or slowing down randomly. There was a lot to look at, a lot to remember for the now inevitable confrontation. Now that Aziraphale had (deliciously) solid proof that Crowley wanted him there was no way he would keep quiet about his own feelings on the matter. 

And soon after that Aziraphale realized that the pictures were… well. Bad. 

Barely any were in proper focus, not a single one had the ideal lighting required for something like this. When the light was sufficiently bright then it was hitting Crowley at a strange angle, when the angle was right the backdrop wasn’t quite as nice, just showing random bits of Crowley’s home. There were shaky ones, and ones that must have been taken when Crowley was too far gone to take them properly. Quite a few looked silly or didn’t display Crowley’s beautiful cock properly. Some were frankly idiotic. A bottle for comparison? Really? Were the ones with weird hand placement meant to make it look bigger?

By the time Aziraphale reached the very end of the messages any arousal he had felt at first was gone. It was replaced with disappointment and the question of whether Crowley even knew what he was doing. 

No, this was nothing at all like the finely crafted letters Aziraphale had received in the past. It was more like pitiful attempts to liken his eyes to shiny things he’d gotten from men who were too drunk for coherent thought. Flattering in the attempt, but absolutely not up to Aziraphale’s standards. 

Couldn’t Crowley have made the effort of creating a nice atmosphere in those pictures? Could he not have found some nice background? Sheets or even his plants? There were nice pictures among the lot, some that even benefited from the lack of skill. But with this amount? That was pure luck, not intentional. 

Aziraphale got up and paced back and forth a little, occasionally throwing accusing glares at his new phone. Crowley was so good in everything else, brought him flowers and chocolates and was always so kind when Aziraphale needed it. Why was the sexual propositioning so sloppy? 

After a little while Aziraphale returned to his chair and sighed. Perhaps he could blame this on Crowley’s apparent assumption that Aziraphale wouldn’t actually see the pictures. Surely he would have gone through the trouble of taking a nice photography every once in a while if he did. Perhaps he would, now that Aziraphale had the phone. 

Then again, Crowley had never shown interest in humanity’s history of erotic art. Did he even know what made a good titillating display? It could very well be that his only experience lay with those horrid videos from the 70s. 

No, if Aziraphale wanted this to go anywhere without having to lower his standards he would very well take matters into his own hands. He had never been one for photography, but he could learn. What Aziraphale _had_ done before was serve as the subject of paintings. He knew how to pose, knew how to display his body and what kind of light he looked best in, had watched masters construct their images. With some effort he would be able to recreate that. 

With a newfound determination Aziraphale rose to his feet and started composing a list of things he would need. A tripod at the very top of it.

*

Crowley was in the middle of Marks and Spencers cheese aisle when his phone rang. Stopping where he was (just the right position to be a hindrance to everyone else but out of the way enough that it would be rude to tell him to move) he fished it out of his pocket and held it to his ear. 

“Yeah, what?” he asked, eyeing the brie. 

“Hey there! It’s Anathema, just wondering if you guys would mind bringing along wine for next weekend. Aziraphale kept talking about his collection so I figured you’d know what is good.”

“Book girl?” Crowley asked after a beat. He always took a few moments to place whoever was trying to get his attention. “This about that grill part? Huh. Guess the wine depends on how wasted you all want to get.”

“Not too much so,” Anathema replied. “Also let me know when Aziraphale is done setting up his phone, I’ll call him directly next time.”

“What phone? You mean the landline?” Crowley asked, finally deciding on the most expensive cheese. He had no idea if it was a good one, but at this point he had grown bored of the store and made his way to the self checkout. 

“No, he bought a phone yesterday. Said it was just about time for an upgrade anyway, and that he might as well get used to it before it becomes obsolete.” 

“Bought a phone? You mean to tell me that Aziraphale went and bought a _mobile phone_.”

Crowley let out a laugh and finished his shopping. The machine would find itself mysteriously malfunctioning right during lunch hour later that day. 

“Aziraphale won’t ever use it, just you see. He’ll decide it’s too much of a fuss.” 

“He seemed interested. Anyway, I’ve got to go, see you Saturday. And don’t forget the wine.”

The call ended just as Crowley reached the Bentley and sat behind the wheel. He snorted at the mental image of Aziraphale trying to figure out a phone. It would be nice if the angel did get something like that though. It was best if he got Aziraphale’s phone number as soon as possible to make sure it was saved well away from the one he usually sent his pictures to though. 

Crowley opened up the messaging app and very nearly dropped the phone. The familiar, comforting, endlessly reassuring grey tick was gone. Replaced by a horrible, aggressively vibrant, blue tick and a little note telling him that his message had been read. 

Impossible. 

Inconceivable. 

There was simply no way that this was true. 

But Aziraphale had a phone now. Presumably a number. A number that his aimless messages had probably latched on to. His phone wasn’t quite like the ones humans had after all, he’d used it in too many wiles and miracles, it was damn near sentient by now. Sentient and used to a demon. 

Oh no. 

With a manic speed Crowley drove home to the safety of his apartment, heart racing and palms fighting to be sweaty though he wouldn’t let them. 

Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_. 

If Aziraphale had read the messages then he had seen the pictures and then he knew that- 

No!

Finally safe in his flat Crowley couldn’t help but pace, hands clasped in front of his mouth and eyes wide. He didn’t even have the energy to yell at his plants, all he could think of was how to explain the chain of crude and unasked for pictures to his angel. Aziraphale would be simply appalled, he’d never talk to him again, he’d smile politely and tell Crowley to cut it out, thank you but he wasn't interested. 

One or two pictures would maybe have been ok. Maybe they could laugh it off and remember it fondly if they ever ended up together in a romantic sense. But not nearly two decades worth of that kind of content! Nobody would want that, not even the horniest being alive would want that sheer mass of cocks on their screen. It was simply too much. 

Crowley was so agitated that he barely noticed the ping of his phone. In a flash he was on it, unlocking it with shaking fingers. 

“New Messages: Aziraphale 1”

With a nervous swallow Crowley tapped on it. 

“My dear boy. I would like to commend you on your valiant attempts. However, I do believe that you require some instructions and several improvements on your skill level - Aziraphale.”

Crowley frowned at it, thinking of what to reply when another message popped up, this time an image file that needed to be downloaded. Usually his phone new better than to make him wait even the fraction of a second, but now it seemed to be taking its time. As if it knew that Crowley might spontaneously discorporate as he nearly did when he finally laid eyes on what Aziraphale had sent him. 

The picture was a beautiful one, bathed in soft light. There was a bed, with sheets of a pale blue and delicate lacy pillows. The focus of the picture was one it took Crowley a few moments to recognize, as he had never seen his angel so devoid of clothes. 

Aziraphale was positioned right in the middle of the bed, his full body on display though half of his face was beyond the frame, leaving just a glimpse of impossibly pink lips delicately parted. He was reclining against the pillows, clad in a sheer white robe that fell over his body like water, hugging his curves and revealing glimpses of soft skin. It was placed in such a way that the most interesting parts of Aziraphale’s body were hidden, hard to make out under the careful fabric folds that looked too casually perfect to be accidental. 

One of Aziraphale’s legs was bent and spread away from his body, revealing a tantalising stretch of creamy pale inner thigh. Aziraphale’s hands looked like something that should belong on a Bernini, one placed over his chest coquettishly and the other laying on his crotch, fingers bent just so, unmistakably playing with himself while hiding what exactly was there in the first place. 

It was, without a doubt, the most erotic thing Crowley had ever seen. His heart rate sped up, impossibly so, his mouth went dry and he felt heat pool low in his belly. 

Aziraphale had never looked softer, more inviting, more delicious. He felt as if he would sell his soul to Hell again, just to see one additional sliver of skin, just to have one glance of what was hidden by the robes, just to _know_ what Aziraphale’s hand was hiding from view. 

It was tortue to see this, to have the pleasure of the image along with the burning need to have more than what had been given freely. It was the kind of image that needed to be painted in oil, that needed to be displayed larger than life in an opulent gold frame that would clash with Crowley’s decor. It deserved to be worshipped. 

Crowley could barely tear his eyes away when another message appeared. 

“I believe I could teach you a thing or two about proper photography, my dear. If you are at all interested in my lessons I extend an invitation to you. My bookshop is always unlocked for you, my dear Crowley.”

The message had barely finished loading and Crowley was already darting out of the room, and into the Bentley. If speed records were broken that day, then surely his angel would not have it in him to complain.


End file.
